


The portrait of autumn.

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 10k, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist AU, Artist Jean, M/M, Oneshot, Smut, coffee shop AU, jeanmarco, jeanmarco oneshot, marcojean oneshot, marcojean smutt, not really but in that theme, theater marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean had never liked drawing portraits. He has never been close enough to someone to know what colours and shapes to use. This is until Marco, a theatre major and his model, comes along and fight his way in. What he doesn't know is that Marco has been waiting for a chance to get close to him for a long time. </p>
<p>from the author of Another espresso.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The portrait of autumn.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the rough version! Any spelling or grammar mistakes will be taken out later on.

Not all too long ago I saw an article called ‘mad men with pencils in their hand’ and it intrigued me. Not because it was well written, I don’t even know if it was because I say ‘saw’ and not ‘read’ with a reason. I’m not always all that attracted to goddamn words and I knew it was about Vincent van Gogh or someone like that without even reading the article, because obviously it wasn’t just something to support people wanting to go mad. Yet it held me, because it made me think about myself. The words meant a lot, because for someone who promised himself he wouldn’t go insane, I was doing an awful job.

There is no denying my art was above average, even for an art school. Yet they did not want me there. Sure they wanted my art, but not me. The whole ‘cocky asshole’ thing was not even minded all too mcuh after they started noticing how my art progress goes. After all the times that I didn’t stick to the assignment, missed the deadline, all the times I drew  and painted myself while I wasn’t allowed to draw myself. After all the hysterical fits while or after drawing. The fights I got in because of my own damn pride.  Teachers were constantly debating between my talent and my slip ups, and the slip ups were becoming harder to compromise with the day.  But the truth is; these two are the biggest parts of me, and they had to take them all or none of them.

Now with this said you probably know why I hate doing portraits of others. Okay maybe you don’t completely know. It’s because I don’t have anyone close to me. No friends, no lover, no parents near college.

Every year the teachers dropped the sentence I despise most;  “We are going to make a portrait of someone again. You can choose models from the Theater and Dance department, or you can sign your name on this list so we can choose one for you”  and it was terrifying. Some were happy about it. Like Eren - fucking bastard-  who yelled “I already asked Armin, it’s be fucking summerglow on a paper” without a single thought about the fact that lowering his voice indeed was possible.

Or sasha, who was going on about how she was going to ask Connie because she could finally enjoy herself in class with her best friend who she had missed so much.

They were foolish. Maybe they - at least- had people who they were close to but how could they know them well enough to make art about them? I felt like art needed every little bit of attention, every detail needed to fit a portrait, or it wouldn’t be a portrait at all, it would be fiction.

Not that I had a lot of choice to do anything else, but I ended up not writing my name down on the teacher’s paper. I hoped that I could somehow get around it. That maybe magically I didn’t have to do it anymore. It was stupid, but avoiding death is always the easiest thing to do.

 

Now, as I was sitting between pencils and papers, days later, I honestly considered refusing to do a portrait. Every grade would be fine as long as I didn’t have to paint someone else. Or even better; as long as I wasn’t around people while working on a big piece. But this wasn’t just any piece, it was a work that decided a lot about my education. An education I loved.

“Connie is willing, I think I’ll do full body-” it took her quite a few days to get Connie to agree with her, as expected because he was always going on about how his skin colour would look terrible as paint. I didn’t see the problem with his skin colour, but apart from that he was still not a charming man.  Still it made me nervous, because now I was the only one left who had no model.

“That ought to become an ugly painting”

“Well the person who is willing to work together with you after you scared away all your last models must be the fucking object of grace” she sarcastically mumbled. “It’s surprising anyone would still agree, everyone knows how freaky you get by now, and then you get mad at them for what, not being beautiful enough?”  Sasha was usually sweet, really, but playing the Connie card would always end up with figuring she had an ace in her hand.  I kept quiet after her words, mainly because I had no reply. I stared at my hands, the purple hue they had fit the cold paint that had died on them  “Jean..” her voice was softer now “You did manage to get a model right?”

“I don’t think I’ll do it”

“Jean this shit is seriously important for your end result”

Eren laughed loudly “Yeah but you’ll be sacrificing lives for Jean’s results!”  Armin bumped him in his rib, looking up from the pose idea’s Eren had for a second. Eren knew damn well that his assignment would be fucked without Armin too.

“Stop exaggerating you damn drama queen”

“It’s barely exaggerated, three guys called quits and refuse to talk to you last time”

I sighed “Like you would have anyone who’d work together with you if it wasn’t the guy who also sucked your damn dick, no offence to Armin” Armin shrugged.

“I sucked your dick and that didn’t exactly make you paint me any better now id dit?”

“Oh my God we are not having this conversation here” I walked away from here, to my spot (in the corner) and put in my ear drops. While everyone was planning things for their portaits I sat and let my hand aggressively slide over the paper. By the time class ended and everyone left I went on, and an hour later one single person returned.  

“Hey Jean” Armin, his voice subtile. “I know a guy, you know, to paint”

“I told you-”

“He won’t think you’re crazy”

“hah?”

Armin shyly shifted “I mean, he won’t be afraid, he.. he’ll probably understant you”

I laughed without a single drop of amusement “do you even realize what you’re saying?”

“Yes” oh.

“I don’t need it Armin. I’m not doing it again”

I knew too, that I didn’t need my education to become a great artist. Good artists have papers, great ones have a depression. I just loved school. Sure I constantly had a frown on my face but I couldn’t imagine going to another school, and his mother sure as hell would make him go elsewhere if he failed here and didn’t get a job.

I stayed in the room after Armin left, the clock hit six and my stomach growled. The painting I was making was another one with a lot of cold colours. Few purple, some blue, very little red. It represented me. Dark, cold and empty, sharp lines and beautiful. All I ever painted was me, well, with exceptions for him mother and him. The difference between them was insane.   
“excuse me?” I turned the painting around, getting pain on everything. “Hi, uhm, my friend Armin told me you were here and said you needed -”

“No” Two dark eyes widened. He awkwardly swung his nicely muscled body from left to right. His face giving away how much he was thinking about what to say now that his speech got interrupted.  “I don’t need a model”

“Oh?”

“I have one”

The boy rubbed his neck and bit his lip, his eyes seemed doubtful but at the same time quite calm. I got the impression he was quite intelligent, had all his emotions in one line. Unlike me. No, he didn’t seem to be like me.   “Armin said you’d say that”

“well I do”

The boy was attractive, but he didn’t appear all too special. Then again, every time I think someone is have been disappointed. “well, let me know if you change your mind. I, uh, I’m Marco bodt”

“Okay” I took a pencil and awkwardly played with it. I knew my painting was ruined.

“Okay.. I’ll see you then, Jean” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. He would be seeing me. He didn’t need to ask for my name. I wouldn’t find another model.

He saw through me, that time.

 

I am always torn between whether I have nothing, or way too much going on in my head. I guess the best way to put it is that there are all kinds of voices talking at the same time until it becomes a blur. A sound; a line and so it becomes a colour, and colours are art. You can’t ask me to tell what I’m thinking. I will fail to explain it in words. I know what I want and think, just not what I thought. “Kirschtein!” Mr Acklerman stopped me on my way out “Your partner?” Partner, he called it, not a model. Which was absolutely ludicrous. Maybe for the rest it was that way, but they were best friends. Connie and Sasha, Eren and Armin, Reiner and Berthold. Yeah sure, call them partners, but not me and some random ass non existent, self absorbed asshole who wants to show their body around like it’s an object (which is actually what theater major’s are meant to think about their body) “I’m going to have to sign you up for one, then”

“No. No I have a model”

“Jean you need hand this assignment. I know you a different case and we really are trying to keep you in school put the fights and attitude are pushing it. Your last times do not mean you will fail this time”

“But I really do have someone, sir.” He raised his eyebrow and patted his papers, waiting for me to say a name he could write down.  “Marco, Marco Bodt”

Now I know this was wrong of me and all that jazz but honestly I couldn’t care less at the time because I didn’t care much about this Bodt guy. I hate to admit it but I would even rather draw Jaeger. Not perfectly, not to my liking, but I would be- and had once been capable of doing this. I had drawn him once - it was far from proper- and now he wouldn’t get over it. He talked about it most often. The time we tried, we fought, kissed, I tried to draw him, we gave each other bite marks, then black eyes, he gave me a blowjob and I made the shitiest portait I had even made, but I made a portrait. He had these powerful characteristics. The power, the bright emerald, the strong red stripes. These made it easier. With him I didn’t have to know every darn detail, I just made the big ones bigger, the other characteristics were not often shown anyway. They almost vanish beneath his power and hope, and only Mikasa and Armin knew his well enough to dig into the pile of baggage he was. I didn’t and I would never. We promised to never draw each other again, but even though he calls me crazy every time he gets the chance, our relationship didn’t suffer the way the ones with other people I tried to - but didn’t-  draw did.

“Jean!” His voice was little more high pitched than usual, probably just surprised. Then again, who wouldn’t be after getting denied. Marco was confident, not inhuman.

I thought of ways to greed him. Of ways to explain. But this had never been my best quality. “Do know about the rumours?”  Not that I knew about the rumours but I knew enough to know they existed. I knew that my last models hadn’t gone picking daisies, they had made sure no one would come to me. At least they had tried.  

“I do” he nodded while staring at me with his big brown eyes, biting his lip before speaking, as if he could not lie, and his kindness wanted him to keep his mouth shut.

“Well they’re true”

Marco seemed far from faced from it all. I passed it off as the fact that the rumours weren’t as terrible as I imagined, but it didn’t cross my mind that the man I was talking too was just so goddamn persistent, so hopeful and open minded. “okay”

“meet me at the coffeeshop after my class”

I wasn’t expecting an answer. I didn’t want one and I didn’t need one. He was not good at not answering, he said another “okay”  and I wondered how such a simple word could seem so strong. Like a loud howl. Like lies in my ears.

Marco turned up, which I had not expected in the first place, and was standing in front of the coffee shop with a smile hidden in his scarf. His eyes gave the silent happiness away. He was early, I didn’t know how that had happened. He was either very quick or I was mindlessly slow in the mind stopping soft autumn.

Most likely.

“Hey Jean” that breathless but confident voice again.

“hey” I mumbled, not stopping for a second before pushing the door open.

Finally in a warmer environment, I signed. The temperature had dropped immensely in the last days, even though the sun kept shining through the now red leaves, no one was used to the cold after the hot summer we had this year. Everyone had been complaining about it the last days. He did too, but not as much as he did about the heat.  “Good afternoon Jean! Would you like your usual?”   I nodded and then looked and halfheartedly pointed at Marco.  “Oh, I’d like a caramel macchiato” Marco said. As expected; he ordered a warm and sweet drink.  “Thank you” soft but straightforward. Like a gentleman. Like all he wasn’t.

I studied Marco’s expression and way of expressing silently but shamelessly. Listened to his voice, saw his way of socializing and remembered his taste. These were simple and important things.  When Marco noticed I was looking he stared for a while but they yelled “Two times a double espresso and a caramel macchiato”  was called soon after and it broke. He helped me carry the coffee so that we were both holding one cup and he was carrying two bags while I was carrying none, as I didn’t have one for school either. Marco hadn’t tried to strike a useless and annoying conversation, which helped. He mentioned the coffee money and let go when I refused to take it, saying the next- which I didn’t think would come- was on him. I felt comfortable. If you had asked me I would have denied this, of course, but I felt most comfortable I had ever felt with a model for art.

When in my apartment, a long minute after,  I made Marco sit down on a stool that was standing in the middle of the room with a weak “let’s start right away” and he did as asked. Of course he asked if there was need to pose, get undressed or put his hair a certain way, but I shook my head while giving him a simple “Just drink your coffee.” My painting supplies were lying close, but the moment of usage was far away.

I just stared, and for almost half an hour he akwardly switched positions on his stool, which was exactly until the moment you could see him making his mind up, throw away his cares and asked “can I lean against the wall?” My answer can be guesses and he knew he could too, so he leaned against the wall and started looking at me. At least as intense as I was looking at him he looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t even all too cocky, just calm and amused. Sometimes, when he noticed I really didn’t care much, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, yet he never let thank soft smile leave his face. Never was he daring of disrespectful, which is rare with confident people.

Somewhere he got tired of the silence as well, so he started humming and when he noticed I wasn’t going to kick him out for it, he started singing softly. His voice was low, honneyed and warm.  I recognized the song ‘what a difference a day makes’ and I wondered if that was the kind of music he listened to; Jazz. It was an important thing to find out when drawing someone. If I was going to draw him. Only if.

Now his voice didn’t bother me all too much because -apart from the fact his voice sounded quite beautiful- no one expected me to answer it. So I went on. Stared, wrote, listened and learned without glancing away unless it was to drink the barely warm coffee. I did so until eight, when I asked him to leave again. He did as I asked, but awkwardly stood in front of the door, hands in his pockets and a polite smile on his face. He wanted to say something and my stomach turned as I realized how big the chance was he didn’t want to do this anymore. He was polite, sure, but not completely crazy. After hours of me staring at him, digging too deep or ignoring him, it was only normal if he’d want to leave. How could he want to make another day painfully vexatious and absolutely useless day while he could spend it differently?

“uh.. so” he mouth opened. My thoughts snapped back. “Same time tomorrow?”

“oh- I- yeah sure”

 

The next day was colder. I had planned to take a walk with Marco because his warm colours and sweet coffee fit the season unexpectedly well.  “A walk? Sure, I really like this kind of weather. Cozy” Marco had answered when I mentioned it. Much to my delight. You see, the more I hung around the boy the more I realized he was the warm colours. Reds and browns. Those were the ones I had to use. For once, no blue would hit my pencil.

Awkward. Marco was talking about things I didn’t care about all too much but I listened anyway. Mainly because I wanted to find out things about him - this wasn’t even working- and a little because his voice was calm a beautiful. Again,  I would have never said so back then.

One time I spoke up, it was after about twenty minutes. “Marco what do the rumours really say?”

“The ones your old models spread?” I didn’t know there were others. I didn’t ask. I just nodded.  “Well, I will tell you because I care about honesty” to remember “and I really think your great, so I care” why? “They.. the other guys said it was mainly awkward at first, same you did with me; staring, digging the silence. They said it quickly turned into a frustrated obsession. Like they gave you all and you acted like it was not enough yet. Like.. like an insane girlfriend”

I chuckled “I guess that’s one way to call it”

“Why don’t you just explain why you do it?”

“Just because”

Marco stood still and stared at me. The red trees behind him made him appear even more beautiful, they gave him strength because he fit in with them. “Jean-” he had a thoughtful frown on his face and bit his lip softly “may I see your work? I know you plan on going deep into who I am and I will give you everything, but I would really like to see that bit of you”

“My art is all of me”

“Eye for an eye.. It seems like a fair deal”

I glared at him. My heart was beating out of my chest. It knocked my breath out of me. And standing there, looking at Marco, I wondered; how could someone so peaceful be so passionate? “You say that now, because you can still leave”

“I can’t promise anything, actually, so we’ll have to work with a little trust”

I snorted “trust, he says.. damnit” But he had a deal, because we started walking towards my home. Marco was telling me about a lot of his favourites, and sometimes let a subtle question fall. It didn’t bother me all too much. I was just glad that Marco appeared to understand that this was the kind of information I needed. He liked historical romans, his mother was from Italie and cooked lovely Italian food,  he knew most of my friends ( which was rather disturbing).

Marco seemed to be at ease the whole time. Even when we started and he took out his shirt after getting himself a cup of Indian tea. The first hours he would switch between talking and humming and the hours after that we could fall into silence more often. He just let himself be. He drank, and smiled and let his hands slide over his neck a few times. His body language was always open, this was a new thing. People tended to be a lot more closed, specially around me. Marco had none of that, he was here for me and he didn’t appear to care much about what I made of it. He wasn’t afraid of me anymore, and after getting his ideas off his mind he wasn’t all too awkward either. He didn’t complain. He didn’t ask about why I hadn’t drawn yet. Maybe that was the reason I let myself show him. For one of the first times in my life I would show art to one that was not a teacher of scout.   “You want to see one?”  but I would show him one that wasn’t intense. One that wasn’t obviously me. Like nature or abstract. As long as he didn’t see a portrait of me, of how I saw myself and no one else could see me, in that portrait of me.

For a while I searched through the room, looked at canva’s that were turned to the wall before. Marco didn’t peak at the ones I checked. He stretched his legs and kept his eyes away from me.

Eventually I chose a picture of a gloomy winter morning on a sunday. One that looked like a picture taken with eyes of someone who hadn’t slept in days. It was grey, lots of blues, some mist. There were no people to be seen. Beautiful. It couldn’t be called pretty, good looking, or in tone. But beautiful it sure was.

Marco took it from my hands with a smile on his face. His mouth was open a little bit, his breath deep. “Jean..” and I waited for the compliments I expected. Him telling me it was amazing, that I’m talented, that I would become famous, stuff like that.  “This.. this is you isn’t it? It represents you”

Of all the things he could have said.

Of all the people who knew me and all the levels people knew me.

“No. No it doesn’t”

“oh.. I just thought the mood fits you so well. It’s all so far away and mysterious. Like, it’s beautiful but as if you are looking through a window to something you can’t touch. I can feel the winter and the morning and it’s just a lot like y-”

“Get out”

Marco raised his eyebrows, the painting laying in his hands lightly “why?”

“Because this is my fucking house, that’s why”

“Very mature”  I glared at him. “Jean, if what I said goes against your ideas I take it back, it’s just my mere-”

“Okay. Take it back and walk yourself back home. The deal is off” I was afraid. Shit I was so afraid of someone getting to know me and someone understanding me. Maybe because it never happened, because I didn’t want to be understood, but most likely because I couldn’t put myself in words the way that he did.

“Why?”

My body was throbbing “No reason. It’s me.” And with that I walked off. I knew that getting him out of my house would be either hard or impossible. So I got out. I just started walking. Off the stairs of the apartment building, the noise of my own steps annoying, and into the cold. Marco didn’t follow me, but I didn’t expect him to. Who the hell would know what to do with a case like me. One that walks away because someone gets close to getting to know him. One that punches the one he gets to know. One who’s so self centered. No one would.

I walked through the city slowly, the big leather jacket I had ripped off my cough was zipped up as high as it could be and I looked at everything with my face half hidden in it. I walked through streets filled with cafes, shops and people drinking warm drinks and laughing together. It wasn’t as calming as it usually was. This was because every single thing reminded me of him. Marco was everywhere. I wanted to walk until I had him out of my mind and house but I was only capable of the later. There were bits of his portrait everywhere. Autumn. Red, brown, little dark green. Some light. Rounds. Like the sun about to go down and leaves, like his muscles and every single freckle on his face .

How do you get away from such a person in autumn?

I was scared again.

 

I only woke up the morning after- and an hour before class- because my mother called. I had fallen asleep while angrily mixing reds and browns and making a curl with every single colour. My hands, papers and anything close to me were now warm coloured and different. It was quite frustrating because they looked so beautiful, but useless. Marco wouldn’t come back. The deal was off and I had made it very clear. Too clear, maybe. So clear that I accidentally cleared my own mind enough for new colours and thoughts to come in; those that made him. I knew going to see him was impossible and with that he wouldn’t know about the meeting that would take place for models and artists; not that he would want to come anymore. Not that I wanted to see him after what I did. It was strange that the usual delight I felt after kicking people out was so far from me. It was because maybe I couldn’t completely kick him out anymore. There was red paint everywhere. He was everywhere. His physical body wouldn’t come near me, though.

“Goodmorning sweetheart, ” my mother said while I got up with misty eyes, nothing but a blue blouse full of paint around my torso - which was cold- and grey nike stockings on my feet -which was great since the floor was cold-, and put on water for my coffee “I got an email from your fine arts teacher.. talked about you getting in too many fights”

Bless her for still being kind to me. Bless her for being capable of dealing with me, and claiming the position of the only one I trusted, the only one that didn’t leave me anxious. “That’s probably true”

“Jean, they are talking about not letting you stay after this semester. I don’t want to push you too much but I know you can show them your worth. They want you there, baby”

“mum.. I’ll try, okay?

“Okay, just try your best” Because she knew all I had gone through because of- and for art. Because only she knew how painful it was to love an artist; to see them go mad. She didn’t want to see that happen before her eyes again, and I wouldn’t let her suffer again. I wouldn’t let anyone suffer like that. I wouldn’t fall for someone who didn’t understand.

After some sweet words, a cup of coffee and putting on pants, I went to the meeting for my classmates and their models. The place where I would get assigned to some new asshile while I wouldn’t be able to get the nagging feeling about Marco out of my mind, nor the browns of my pallet.  

Eren turned to me “Partner left already?” I kind of felt like putting oil paint in that shit eating mouth of his. The ugly smirk and knowing eyes burning right through me as if I was trash. He didn’t even know that Marco- his friend- was my partner, and still he found it hilarious that I wouldn’t get through this year.  I just ignored him, let my hands clench around my pencil. Maybe a little because he was right about every single thing he was about to say and I couldn’t take not being able to answer him properly. “Did you even have one to begin with?”

“Yeah” I whispered softly.

“Well I can’t exactly imagine you being nice to the kind of people who still want to do the job. No offence but you are kind of picky when it comes to looks!” Eren chuckled, he didn’t know Marco had wanted to, because everyone knew Marco was good looking.  “I didn’t think you had one, if I’m being honest”

“Eren, I get it, fuck off”

Mr Ackerman, walked to stand in front of the class and wrote something on the whiteboard. He coughed softly, the way he did quite often, and then looked around the class. His eyes focussed on me for less than a second but I would see he noticed how I didn’t do what he had promised. I saw he noticed but he didn’t spend another second on it. “Okay, so today I will explain you what you and your partner will have to-”  and I zoned out. A little because I hadn’t slept, but mainly because I knew I wouldn’t do the assignment anymore. I had fucked it up and I was a goner. It was childishly rebellious to ignore because I couldn’t manage, but I did.

“Excuse me?” Mr Acklerman was interrupted by the door opening to let the most honeyed and warm voice in. My stomach turned painfully. “I had forgotten the meeting, my apologies” I had never told him there was a meeting. Liar. Liar and hero and liar.

“And you are?”

“Marco bodt, sir, I’m Jean’s model” and I swear, I saw Acklerman’s mouth twitch; pushing back a smile. Eren’s eyes burned a hole through me and and even Sasha and Reiner turned to look at me for a second. I just smirked cockily, as if I knew this would happen.I didn’t and I had given it away before I could stop it.   
Marco sat down next to me, taking just enough distance. From that second my mind was even more blank. His presence made everything except from his own voice silent. Even the softest whisper was clear.  “Armin texted me.. is this okay?”

The paint on my fingers was suddenly the most appealing thing to look at and to scratch on “yeah..”

If I’m being completely honest I am going to have to say that I don’t remember what that lesson was about. Nor why it had been important. Every time I think of that lesson, and even in that lesson, I keep replaying the way Marco walked into that classroom at mind. So calm, because he had no idea what kind of heart attack he was costing. I kept blaming that heart attack-, chest tightening-, belly turning thing on how unexpected it all was. Maybe even on the eyes of others, because they had not expected someone to stick with me, just like me.  They stared at the way I answered Marco softly -an act of thankfulness- because they had never seen me speak of useless small things before.

 

Maybe I answered the small talk because I wanted to avoid the grande talk; the art talk. The talk I wanted to have as soon as we got home, because suddenly I felt like I had obligations towards this guy. We did get home. That was the scary part. “You were right. About that painting”  I said it as soon as I opened the door, because I turned a button around in my head.

“But that’s not a weird thing right? Why did you run?” I didn’t reply. I didn’t even have a reply. How could I say that it was because I was afraid? How could I lie and say that my art was no good?  “Do you think like that? In colours.. in, moods, sounds and temperatures?” I nodded, my chest was tight and my throat sore. How far could this man take it? I didn’t know back then.  “and what am I?”

I kicked my shoes out and awkwardly focussed on getting them in place “uh.. red, brown, autumn. You are like an indian summer, your warm sweet and spicey drinks fit it so nicely” I was talking too much, but ones the first words were out it became so damn hard to stop the rest. Shit, I was so passionate about this thing I could never talk about.  “Your freckles like leaves. You are open, bright and calm so I would put the canvas horizontal. It’s more like smooth jazz or soul with a good beat. The beat because you are strong and structured. If I’d put it horizontal it would be a lot more like.. I don’t know.. charlie parker or something. But you are calmer, like thick circles and curves.”  I stopped talking. Realized. Finally looked Marco in the eye; he was grinning. “Sorry. uh, do you understand? I know it’s cra-”

“It’s not. I understand”  Marco walked with me while I put on coffee in the kitchen. For a second he was silent, his eyes traveling around the room. His fingers softly found the chair, as he he wanted some kind of securance. Something, anything, to do with his hands.  “You know Jean.. That way of thinking is not that special. You give yourself too much credit-”

I roughly glared at him “It’s not like I think I’m a special fucking snowflake”

“But you do;-” I should have gotten mad, but his voice was just so goddamn soft  “You put yourself above me. That’s why you don’t draw me. You think I’m unworthy because I’m not like you” I kept grumpy and silent, but Marco’s face lit up “Give me a colour, a day or season!”

“Why?”

“Just do, I will turn your strategy around. You forgot that I’m an artist too”

I frowned, the coffee machine was howling loudly, which made is raise our voices “You are a theater major” I deadpanned. Marco smirked and pulled up one eyebrow; judging me for putting art in a box.  “Okay fine; light green, April.”

And he did. Perfectly. Male, young, energetic, even if his clothes and face made it weird, warmer and more like an eight, his act became an light green in april. Everything about his voice and movements screamed the colour.

“Red. Six” I mumbled, softer now, because I was amazed and he was proving me wrong. I would never tell him that, but I was amazed.

With that six, he moved with a sway. He became more feminine, he had every little muscle of his body under controle and made sure nothing was out of proportion or dumb. He moved beautifully. His face was down, grace, an cocky and slightly evil smirk apeared on his face; it knocked the breath out of me. It fit. He talked like that six “You see, Jean, this works both ways” He bend his back carefully when he walked. I shivered. “I won’t care about your egoism. After all, isn’t that your most charming hue?”

Marco sat down on the table, his usual standards were completely gone. Waves of this character he became hid him. He had everything, and mainly sex appeal, in a box and he could open it whenever.  “Will you show me your all?” he breath, looking straight at me. I bit my lip, stuck between taking my coffee to ignore him or keeping my eyes locked with his. I chose the later, because the opposed became more impossible with the second.  

“Okay”

And he grinned, falling out of his role with a loud and sudden bang, yet not becoming less charming. I swallowed and walked into my room, he followed behind me silently but with the loudest happy mood I had experienced. I don’t know if it compromised my fear though; it was the first time I would show my art to anyone who wasn’t important to get me higher. I felt like running. I didn’t. He had shown me his work of and I would show him mine.

“No need to say anything” I said as Marco’s hands clenched around one art work. Not that he appeared to be planning on saying anything. He just intensely stared at it for a while and then put it down just to take another one. I tried to calm myself by sketching. Freckled appeared on every paper and for once it didn’t feel all too bad; because we knew each other a little better now. Because I could study him with new and beautiful emotions.

He studied mine, while I studied him.

When it was eight o clock, and by stomach was growling like an absolute mad man to let me know it needed food, I looked up at Marco. The freckled looked like a kid in a candystore, a smile was plastered on his face, it had been for a while.

“What do you want to eat?”

Marco looked up at me, his mouth open as if it had become tired from smiling so darn much. “Well if you’d like it, I could look into your fridge to see if I can make this amazing pasta my mum sometime makes?”  I could only mindlessly nod. It sounded great. It fit him.

I didn’t have all the food he needed but I had enough to make something alike. Marco looked quite concentrated while cooking, which was a nice and intelligent look on him. I watched him, with soft eyes for once, and sat down. “I was glad you showed up today”

“ah, it’s no problem”

“They can throw me out any time now, due to all the fights.” I laughed humorlessly “I was ready to give up. I had decided not to care anymore. And then you came barging in with your goddamn kind words”

Marco smiled shyly at this  “I just think you are amazing”

“Why?”

Marco was silent for a second. His attention on the pasta -which he was putting on plater- and when he turned to give it to me he said “I want you to know but I can’t..”  bit his lips “it’s hard to explain”

I reacted slowly, not wanting to push him and not sure if this was all he was going to say. It was. He started eating in silence. So I did too. It was delicious pasta. Quality that reminded me of home. It made me feel at ease. Marco made me feel at ease. “Alright”

That evening he sat down and went through my sketchbooks while I drew until I knew the exact amount of freckles I needed for all the spots on his body. We switched between silence and soft talks about intense things. We switched between staring at each other and staring at each other’s all.  

Three o'clock, that’s when we finally got yourselves far enough to let him leave. It was dark out. I walked halfway with him because I wanted to know what he looked like when lit up by nothing but the moon and street light. Because talking about all the ways I disagreed with his optimistic philosophy at an hushed tone in the middle of the night was somehow very enjoyable.

That night the few hours of sleep I did have were full of him. Now he was naked, his skin against mine. The words ‘I think you are amazing’ quickly turned into ‘I want you’ and Autumn melt melt into winter in one night the way his body melt into mine.

As soon as the morning hit I promised myself I would forget about the dream. Because I had once promised myself I would never fall for another damn popular normal guy, specially a straight one.  Both of those promises like the promise not to paint anyone but myself.

 

 

Sleepless calm was written all over me that day. I let is show, I think that’s my first mistake.  When you have bags under your eyes and a smile on you lips it makes people wonder. It always does and I should have known that this would be even worse with Jaeger.  “What’s got you looking that tired?”

“Marco was over untill three” Second mistake, I knew this from the second Eren got the most terrible shit eating grin on his face.

“Shit, you totally fucked him”

“Eren no”

Eren grinned “Eren yes! Jean kirschtein; I was wondering why you held out so long but I guess the same old strategy works best”

“Oh fuck off, stop bringing yourself up, you were a completely different case”

“Yeah and Marco sticks around untill midnight to let you be a complete creap. Seriously, I know you well enough to know that there are only two kinds of Jean; The dick sucking Jean and the angry artist who sucks dick Jean”

My face took a disgusted turn. It somehow sounded right but it made me feel gross. It wasn’t like that, not with Marco. “We only talked”

Eren opened his mouth to say more but Armin elbowed him softly. This was enough to make the other shut up “Eren, let them be, please”

I gave Armin a quick smile before turning to my painting and putting in my silent eardrops so they would ignore me. To get rid of my obligation to speak. I did this a lot; putting in eardrops without music. Maybe this was another mistake. Maybe it was the first thing - in my whole life, probably- that I did incredebly right.   

“Eren” a whisper came “You know how long it took Marco to finally get the guts to talk to Jean and you are not going to ruin or make this awkward for him”

“Why do I care? Marco is great. He doesn’t fit with Jean. No one can carry that much baggage-”

“The same goes for you and I can manage just fine. If anyone can, and has the right to, it’s Marco. Jean seems to like him and this is what Marco deserves after being the only one who didn’t mind the rumours because he somehow decided he found the man gorgeous”

“But he-”The other looked at the ground like a kicked puppy. My eyes were stuck on my painting so that it apeared that I hadn’t hear anything they had just said. It was hard, it really was.

Armin glared “Marco can take care of himself. If he thinks Jean is the most gorgeous being alive; let him. If he dares to love Jean, dare to tell me that he isn’t brave”

There was a long silence. I knew Eren was awkwarly shifting under Armin’s gaze. I knew that he was thinking of ways to somehow mean something or make a change; like he always did. To help someone, anyone, just because.

“But what if Jean feels the sa-”

“Let them figure it out theirselves.”

 

 

Now let me ask you something, reader. How do you tell someone you have only known a few days that you know they have loved you for such a long time?  How do you tell them you’re willing?

I’ll tell you what I did; I didn’t. I didn’t speak about it. Of course I did ask him to come meet me again. In person this time. I -bravely so- walked up to him and his group of friends. This scared me more that I had thought it would because he had a lot of friends I had no idea about. Every single face was worried and some of them were even obviously angry. Except from one; Marco’s. Marco’s face lit up beautifully, which surprised everyone but me.

Someone said - like a stab through my chest-  that Marco “had to be more carefull” and Marco answered by looking every single one in the eye, sternly and saying a confident “No” before giving a softer and more hasistant “yes” as an answer to my question.

The reason I went to Armin to ask about the rumours later that day wasn’t their stares, it was how hard Marco fought them. I just wanted to know what they knew. Which turned out to be way too much. “Well, they know you used to sleep with a lot of older men. The rumours make it seem even worse than it was an we both knew you went at it quite terribly” Armin calmly told me. “Marco knows that these words were spread a long time ago but it’s obvious why they give strength to the modelling one” I nodded. The idea of Marco knowing about my past sex life disturbed me a lot more than it should have.  “I think they automatically link your art process to homosexuality and sexual intentions”

When Marco and I came home that day I hadn’t spoken a single word. I was far from having my thoughts in one line and I wasn’t sure if the things Armin had told me were helping or if they were making it worse. Probably the later.  “I was wondering, all day actually, who that painting was.” He vaguely pointed into the room but I knew very well what painting he was talking about. The painting with too many colours. Bright and dark. No logic. Just painfully insane.  “Of course you don’t have to tell me, it’s just that I can’t imagine that it’s you-”

“It’s my father. He was an artist too.” I let my hand slide through my sirty hair “He became insane, made a fuckload of art while making taking no care of me or my mother, the most amazing art even seen too,  and then committed suicide”

Marco almost gasped “I’m sorr-”

“Don’t be. The guy was an asshole. He played my mother all the time with dirty excuses about not being able to draw anyone he didn’t know like that”

“A-Are you afraid you are a lot like him?” I should have gotten mad at that question. I should have thrown him out of the door and to hide from my troubles again. I shouldn’t have let him say something to put me down like I did with myself.

“Yes, but I don’t act like him, I have a better solution” Only draw the ones that were truly special. Never draw anyone but them. Stick with them. I could only manage that strategy.

Marco nodded awkwarly, as if he wanted to ask more. Something that I - now that I knew about his feelings- passed as him pushing away great emotions. Whatever he pushed away was ignored as he started getting into our usual routine. Drinking his coffee and getting undressed till underwear. He placed himself in his usual spot, he looked through him with his usual intense brown eyes, yet my body was aching much worse than it usually did. I clenched the pencil in my hands and made my strokes too dark and straight. It was like.. like I  was a pencil with too much paint on it, but I wasn’t allowed to leak onto the perfect white canvas.

But I did. I did let myself leak because that’s how the best art it made. I moved slowly and tactfully, because I am an artist who thinks foolish things through before doing the foolish.  I moved closer, my hands basically burning to touch him in the right places.  “Do I need to change my posi-” He stopped talking when I touched his neck, letting my hands slide to his colarbones and then back to his jawline.  Intense, to me. I could even feel my own frown on my face. Oh how ugly I must have looked while he just smiled at me. As if to let me know that it was alight, and my cold hands didn’t bother him all too much. As if he wanted to let me know he was the only one who wanted me just the way I was.

And so I kissed him, a pretty natural reaction to all he was telling me, I thought. And he kissed me back, letting me push my tongue into his mouth and letting m grip his face roughly.

It wasn’t right. He was held back, he kissed politely and then pulled back. The apologetic face made my heart sink. I hated myself in that moment because for once, I had let myself take a chance, but with the wrong person. I had drawn the wrong one.  “Uh- Jean.. this, this is not the same with me as with other models, because I-”

“No. I have never drawn a model. Nor have I drawn people I had sex with. I never even-” I stopped in my track. Mainly because all I said was stupid and because I wouldn’t be able to explain it in words. But Marco understood me. Marco would understand my real way of explaining. So I stood up in a hurry and took my sketchbook out of my back. As quick as possible I skipped to the page of things I sketched after realizing that Marco liked me and then pushed it into Marco’s hands.

“You know.. you know how I feel” I nodded. He understood. “So what you did was..”

“Yes”

And Marco grinned. The goddamn an grinned like a child on christmas and then rougly pushed his mouth on mine. The smile could sill me felt on my lips. This made the rough- and carelessness of the kiss sweet. No need to try and make it smooth, Marco was still himself so it came naturally. I cought myself shivering under his touch because his body was so strong compared to my breakable one. “I’m so glad” he kissed me.  “Everyone else is blind” He let his lips slide over my neck while talking, his stupid smile still in place “I knew you were amazing from the moment I saw you.”

“I just think that you’re insane”

“Then don’t let me become sane” It was cheesy, but it was my yes. I was my yes to push my lips onto his ones more. To push him against the fall roughly with our mouths still connected. My hands already all over him. Mainly because it was easy; his clothes were already gone anyway. Marco didn’t particulairly seem to mind but he still seemed quite eager about turning the tables, at least halfway. So he calmly lead me into the bed,  tongues and lips still connected, and pushed me down. Awkwarly he tried to open my blouse.  “wrong -, you shitdick”

He laughed softly and kissed my neck, not minding the comments I had about his loving. “I’m sorry, I’m kind of needy right now.. I never though it would come of this”

“Don’t be.. after all-” I unbuttoned my own shirt, and pants, as he failed to do it “you’re the first I drew”  His lips on mine again. His insanely warm hands now touching my bare hips, carassing them roughly. His mouth a centimeter from mine, his breath in my mouth “Thank you” He threw his hips forward, and pulled mine against himself “I’m glad”

From there on he stopped talking by using his voice, and started talking with his body. His mouth on everything on my body. My jawline, my nipples, my  hips and,  after I let out a whine, my cock. My felt loney. I can admit that. I felt needy for his mouth on mine but once he started on my length that feeling was quickly gone. Skills. That’s all I can call it. You don’t get amazing the abilty to give amazing blowjobs just because of how much you love someone, these are skills and he had them. And it was intenser than any sexual contact I had had before, probably because I had forgotten that it could come out of something that wasn’t anger, or mind- and heartless lust with people I didn’t and would never know.

I saw colours, in those moments. Lights that basically blinded me. My hand found Marco’s hair, not really to guide, but to find security while he made me feel so weak,, and when I was quiaking in lust, he, bit my tight softly, gripped his own belt needily and then whiped his mouth “D’youhave some liquid that is noit paint or coffee?” He breath.

I  let my weak arm reach out to my drawer, my body stupidly following but my movements without a single doubt. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted someone t thrust their love into me. I did now, and that need was too much to handle.

Marlift my hips carefully but with ease, he pushed me double just to peck my lips and then slowly let his fingers slide inside me. Awkward, he was making sure my body was alright and I wanted to completely ruin my body with his. He wanted it too. His dick was as hard as it could be, basically begging for his mind and love to become weaker than his lust. I couldn’t really fight him on it. I did.  “Just fucking put it inside of me”

Marco just breath heavily, he seemed to have lost his voice for a second. Or maybe it was his mind. “I’ll break you”

To which I pushed my hips forward with a “You, ah, you have broken me anyway” That came out more like a moan than anything else.  

He ignored my words but pulled his fingers out of me and his cock against my entrance “are you-” “Fucking kidding me, just fuck do - ahh holy fuck”  He smiled at me sweetly. Like a silent apology. I could see he was trying to calm himself too. That letting me breath for a second was killing him.  “Half” he whispered eventually, this while I was already melting with him, and with him inside of me. I don’t exactly remember how I expressed the delight but also surprise that washed over me. Probably by cursing. Probably by an “holy fuck” or a “shit.

This time, this wasn’t enough to make him stop, and he wasn’t enough to stop himself anymore. He pushed himself inside of me. Moving with and because of my wordless moans. His hands gripping my hips tightly, and sometimes stroking them lovingly. The more furter he pushed inside me the more his mouth let wett traces on my neck and mouth.

¨Ioved you” his ability to speak while gripping my aching cock and thrusting inside of me amazed me to no extend. “for a long time” he bit my chest while pushing even deeper. I shivered. He roled his hips, pushed deeply “Beautiful”

My hands found his mouth and I pulled him forward so that our mouths were almost connected and our tongue’s could find each other. So that I could pull his hair and scrach his back too. “Fuck, I-” wanted to cry. I wasn’t as poetic as the other but I sure as hell felt how deep making love to someone who loves you goes.

Marco was sweaty, but he was also glowing with a smile. His eyes seemed to undress me over and over again. His eyes seemed to be the thing touching me most, even with his hands on my dick and his dick inside of me. His eyes were worst, they carassed me best.  “Marco.. I want to- “ and Marco pulled my cock rougly, pushed inside of me deeply. He let me shiver under his touch and whispered “together.”  Which seemed like an incredible plan Marco was planning on following. His thrusts even better, his hand pulling roughly, his mouth just breathing and licking into mine. It could barely called a kiss. That rough way of licking and moaning, but it was an amazing one. And for once, even if it did make me empty, it didn’t make me feel that way.

“Shit” I let myself fall down, my body like one of a china doll only then even weaker and more moist. I chuckled painfully “fuck”

Marco smiled and let his naked body bend down to kiss my cheek softly “Jean”

I turned my face to look at him, something I rarely did after sex and it made me quite awkward “what?”

“Jean” he chuckled, placing another kiss on my mouth, then my ear, and tracing kisses all over me after that. I realized that he wanted nothing out of me. He just wanted to say my name with thta god damn smile in his voice. Maybe I really wanted him to say my name that way too.

One time. One time I kissed him back in this soft and happy way -which felt disgustingly good- and then I compromised it my mumbling “Go clean up”

“So needy” he mumbled while standing up to get some paper. I just snuggled into my sheets. “Should have taken a condom”

I hid under my sheet awkwarly and half assed “Well, I’ve never done it without”   

Marco just smiled “That’s not what I was talking about, Jean”

When he was finsihed he came to lie in bed with me. He barely said anything. He didn’t note how cold I was, he just warmed my body. He didn’t ask about my past or about other things I didn’t want to talk about, the future included. He gave me time to think about all of that, and about him, and I did. I pulled myself against him tightly and breath him in.

It took him to time to fall asleep. Once he was out I stood up, butt naked and icecold, to start painting. I had it. I knew it. I knew him.  I took an extra blanket to wrap around myself and started on the colours I knew all too well.  His breathing patern became a part of the canvas, his temperature became a part of the canvas, his all - me included- became a part of it.  

 

When Marco woke up he seemed far from faced by the fact I spend the night painting him. He just calmly walked up to me and hugged me from behind. His lips on my hair and his warmth on all of me. “Is that me?”

“Of course it is”

“Am I allowed to call myself beautiful?”

“Yeah..”

“It’s beautiful. Does it have a name?”

I turned around and sneaked my arms around his neck. My face pushed against his chest and my head light. “I- I was thinking about ‘the only one who invites the winter morning’”  because like.. no one likes winter mornings because they're dark and cold. It replaced the beautiful autumn sunlight they loved, but the autumn sunlight let himself invite the winter morning.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think?  
> please  
> pleas  
> plss  
> pls


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